Tis The Season To Be Jolly
by OrangeShipper
Summary: 'Tis the season to be jolly... but sometimes that's far easier said than done. December 1918 sees Matthew home for Christmas for the first time in three years. He just never imagined it would be like this. Revisiting my All That Is Left AU family, written for Tumblr's Mary/Matthew Secret Santa!


_A/N: Merry Christmas! For the first time in a while, this year I joined in Tumblr's Matthew/Mary Secret Santa, and wrote a gift for the lovely Galindadaae. I decided to revisit my All That is Left universe - it was such a joy to do so! If you haven't read that fic, all you really need to know is that in it, Matthew and Mary reconciled and married (rather dramatically) shortly after S1 ends, though after Matthew has joined up. We rejoin them here at Downton in Christmas 1918, at which point Matthew (as in canon) is wounded, and they have two daughters - Mabel (Bel), who's 3, and Catherine (Kit), who's one and a half. _

_Happy Christmas, and here we go!_

* * *

 **'Tis The Season To Be Jolly**

As Matthew awoke, though his eyes remained shut, he knew that it must be Christmas. They'd gone to bed shortly before midnight (he hadn't been able to face the humiliating performance of getting to church for mass, even if it had been possible at all), and his fitful sleep had seemed long enough that it must be Christmas morning now.

He couldn't feel Mary beside him, though there was warmth there that meant she was not long risen.

He couldn't feel his legs, still, either.

Eyes opening in the darkness, his jaw set with determination as his hands clasped firmly up and down his thighs. Sometimes, just _sometimes_ , he thought there was something… A whisper, a tingling, like pins and needles but never for more than a second or two, and each time his heart leapt… But Clarkson was sure it was nothing, and he didn't dare to hope.

God, it was miserable. It was three years since he'd spent Christmas at home, and it had been the happiest of his life. He'd seen Mabel for the first time, and he and Mary had danced, loved, been together, so completely and so happily. The two intervening years he'd been at the front, and had missed them so terribly. What he wouldn't have given, then, in the frozen mud and biting cold and restless, uneasy boredom, to have been with them at home. They'd made as much celebration of it as they could, and the fighting had held off in an unspoken truce for a merciful day or two. But oh, how he'd longed to be here instead. And now he was… yet a small, treacherous part of him longed to go back, because then at least he'd been able to walk, and the dream of making love to his wife hadn't been an entirely impossible one, or the prospect of swinging his daughters up into his arms and… he'd been able to _live._ However much progress he'd made in accustoming to his new life over the past few months, he wasn't sure yet that he'd ever fully accept it, or that the bitter sting of misery and regret would ever fully leave him.

He leaned across to the lamp, switching it on to see that he must have had a reasonable sleep after all, as it was now six o'clock. A quiet knock echoed from the door, which Matthew found belonged to Bates when he bid him come in.

"Good morning, Mr Crawley - I've come at Lady Mary's request, to see if you were awake to sit you up a bit. And, may I say, Merry Christmas!"

"Is it, Bates, really?" Matthew returned with a sigh, as he worked with the valet's help to sit up against the pillows. He couldn't say as such to Mary, he knew, but Bates at least would understand.

"Yes, Sir, it is. Because you're here, and that's all there is to it."

"Damn it, man, can't you just agree with me for once instead of being so unfailingly optimistic?"

There was a light-hearted glint in his eye, and Bates chuckled warmly.

"Not on Christmas Day, I'm afraid."

"Ah well. Optimism it is, then. Thank you, Bates - and Merry Christmas, too."

He wasn't left waiting for long after Bates had gone, and Mary's absence when he'd woken became clear. The door cracked open and her face peered round, shining with excitement, breaking into a laugh as the door flew back and two small figures in their nightdresses hurtled in.

"Papa! Happy Christmas!" Mabel cried, with an indecipherable echo from Catherine, who clutched at the covers as her older sister helped shunt her up onto the bed.

"Merry Christmas, my darling little ones… What a lovely surprise to wake up to!" Matthew's smile now was helplessly wide as both girls clambered their way onto his lap. "Thank you," he murmured to Mary, settling in beside him.

He welcomed her soft kiss, but only for a moment as Mabel tugged at the collar of his pyjamas.

"Got you something, Papa! Close you eyes-"

"Present!" Catherine mumbled, tugging her thumb from her lips to clap as Matthew dutifully shut his eyes, waiting until he felt a small package pressed into his hands before opening them again.

"Well, what's this?" He slipped off the ribbon.

"Only something little," Mary smiled, resting her head on his shoulder. Mabel bounced with excitement, as Catherine looked expectantly on.

The wrapping paper slid to the floor, and Matthew's eyes lit then stung with tearful affection as he turned the small Bible over in his hands. Small enough to fit in his pocket, soft leather, and just inside the cover… a photograph of Mabel and Catherine sitting together (recent, he could tell), and on the page behind it their full names and dates of birth. Underneath was written, in Mary's elegant script, ' _With so much love, from all your darling girls._ '

"Oh, my dears… Thank you, so much."

"We choosed it, with Mama," Mabel chattered as Matthew hugged both girls tightly, "and sat so still for the picture!"

"S'pretty," mumbled Catherine around her thumb.

"You like it, Papa?"

He beamed, eyes glittering as he kissed the top of her head, then Catherine's, blonde curls and dark that shone softly in the lamplight.

"Very, very much. I'll keep it with me always."

Mary rubbed his arm, thrilled to see his delight. "That was the idea, darling… Like a proper family Bible, but one that you can keep with you. For when you feel you need it."

His smile trembled, and he held back a sigh. Darling Mary, she knew him so well. He'd had a pocket Bible with him at the front, of course; he'd tried to seek comfort in it when everything felt so senseless and dark. It hadn't helped much but, still, he'd tried. Somehow it had been lost when he was wounded. They hadn't spoken about it much, but Mary must have guessed that his faith had been terribly shaken by the pitiful state he'd been left in… and he wasn't yet sure it was recovering, as all his prayers went unanswered. But at least, when he was ready to look again, now he'd have this - with his precious family safe in it too.

* * *

The war might have been officially over, but still it lingered in Downton. While many of the convalescents had chosen (and been able) to return to their homes for the Christmas season, a fair number still remained, and the family and hospital staff tried to make the day as celebratory for them as they could. The decorations weren't quite so lavish as before the war, but lent a cheerful atmosphere at least, with a modest tree in the hall and another in the small library, where the family now were enjoying their lunch and the rest of their gifts.

Matthew had remembered that they served themselves for this one day of the year, while the servants enjoyed their Christmas dinner downstairs… but hadn't counted on the difficulty of doing so from his wheelchair. After trying unsuccessfully to manoeuvre himself whilst serving food to a plate balanced on his lap, and thanking God that no one seemed to have noticed his failure, he accepted Mary's assistance and the excuse of holding Catherine while Mabel tumbled with Isis between everyone's legs.

"Don't you want to play, too, Kit?" he murmured against her hair.

"No," she shook her head slowly, tracing sticky fingers over the colourful pages of a new storybook in her lap. "This!"

"Alright. Here, shall we read it again?" He smiled at the little girl's eager nod, and turned the pages back to the start, reading softly until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Here's your lunch, darling," Mary passed him the laden plate (which smelt delicious), then lifted Catherine into her arms. "Come on Kit, let's see what there is for you. Bel - no, watch where you're going - yes, you too, you can play with Isis again once you've had something to eat."

"Does Isis need lunch too?"

"I'm sure she does, my darling, but not from you!"

"Don't worry," Robert said fondly, "Mrs Patmore will make sure she's well fed later on."

Mabel seemed content with that, and trotted to the settee where Mary sat with Catherine, with Matthew's wheelchair beside. Her small hands tried to smooth the creases from her dress - Matthew noticed his wife's little frown, and smiled as he knew she withheld the chastisement that would normally come, because it was Christmas.

In the pleasant lull that came from full bellies and the calm after the morning's excitement, Robert clapped his hands together.

"Right! Now we've all had a chance to recover somewhat, let's get it out, then!" He stood and made his way to the sparkling new gramophone displayed on the table.

"Now?" Violet clasped her cane, raising her eyebrows. "Is that really necessary?"

"Oh, yes!" Sybil cried, as even Edith smiled beside her, "It is Christmas, Granny…"

Cora joined Robert beside it, and rifled through the few records there.

"Quite right. Mary, Matthew - thank you again, so much. What a lovely thing to bring some joy after the year we've all had."

Matthew smiled graciously and nodded, feeling Mary take his hand and squeeze it. They'd ordered it months ago, and even after he'd been wounded it still seemed a lovely idea, a pleasant distraction from the darkness that still threatened at times to overwhelm him.

Though they were all a bit cramped in the small library, a reasonable space was somehow cleared, and as jaunty music crackled into the air the mood became infectious. Robert and Cora turned sedately together, while Sybil danced wildly with Mabel, and Isobel a little more carefully with Catherine, as the rest of the family watched with beaming smiles.

Matthew watched his daughters, his heart full. Mary's hand was still in his own, slender and soft, and he turned to look at her. Her face shone, her smile wide as she watched the scene too. God, he loved her.

"You should dance with your Papa," he said quietly.

She turned, her eyes meeting his, and though she tried to hide it he could see the sadness encroaching on her smile.

"Not just now. I'm perfectly happy here, with you."

"Mary…" His voice cracked, and he gripped her hand more tightly. "Just because I'm stuck here, sitting-"

"Darling, please don't-"

"No, I - I'd love to see you dance. I mean… of course, of _course_ I'd far rather dance with you myself, but I… Oh God, Mary…"

It hit him like a blow to the chest, the finality of it, and he could barely breathe under its weight. Never being able to stand, or walk, was hard enough, but this… To never dance with his wife, or his daughters, to never feel that joy of movement and ache of love with those he held the dearest… It was such a little thing, but such a desperately unbearable prospect, he _couldn't_ bear it.

Her hand was at his cheek, her thumb stroking comfort, as she murmured, "It's alright, darling…"

"It isn't," he gasped. "It's… damned hard."

He felt himself falter, and was desperately grateful that Mary saw it, and rose swiftly to take him out before anyone else could see. That last thing he wanted was to cast a gloom on everyone else's day, but how could he help it, wretched as he was? His jaw clenched tightly as they wheeled across the hall to the dining room, the nearest private space they could get to, where he finally broke down in his wife's arms. She held him tightly, perched on a chair beside him, arms around his heaving shoulders and her cheek against his hair. She held him as long as he needed, as sobs began to subside to ragged, slowly calming breaths.

"Sorry for blubbing," he whispered at last, scrubbing away his tears.

"Don't be." Mary held his face, kissed his cheeks with such tenderness, and stroked his hair back. "Don't ever be sorry for that, darling. What can I do?"

With a sniff, Matthew turned his face into her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm as he clasped it.

"Well…" he said, with a trembling smile, "it would truly give me joy to see _you_ enjoying yourself, my darling. So please, take me back in, and go and dance with your Papa, or with Bel and Kit. They're having a marvellous time, aren't they?"

She chuckled, kissing him softly on her way to stand.

"Yes, I think so! And so much better for you being here, too."

"I know."

If anyone had noticed them leave, no-one said a word when they returned, for which Matthew was grateful. Mary rubbed his shoulders affectionately before going over to Robert, and Matthew watched them dance, with a more heartfelt smile than he'd mustered all day. Catherine had exhausted herself dancing (Mabel showed no such sign of tiring yet), and toddled up to climb into his lap, with a helping hand from Isobel who sat down beside him.

"It's a lovely sight, isn't it," she said happily, and Matthew couldn't say how glad he was that she didn't ask if he was alright, or anything else like that. She rubbed his arm instead, and that was enough to let him know how proud she was, and how pleased she was that he was here, and to reassure him that he was quite entitled to feel as miserable as he liked, and how she wished she could bear his pain instead. He knew it, because it was the same assurance Mary always gave, and he could see that the others felt it too in that glint of sympathy behind every smile, however they tried to hide it. Still, he was glad that none of them said it, because no-one's sympathy could help.

He focussed instead back on the sight she'd drawn attention to, of his family dancing, so happily, and their smiles that radiated in the firelight. He held Catherine tighter on his lap.

"The loveliest," he agreed.

* * *

"Happy Christmas, darling," Mary murmured later that night, as they lay in bed together fighting off sleep to enjoy these last moments of peace in the quiet of night. He felt her curl against him, her arm slung over his waist, and his fingers played along the smooth skin of her shoulder.

"You, too… I can hardly believe we've been married four years, and it's only the second I've spent with you. My darling, I'm… so happy to be with you. You know that, don't you?"

She leaned up to face him, and tickled his chin. The memories of those early days when he'd honestly, truly rather wished he were dead had faded, somewhat, but still stung to think of.

"Absolutely, I do. I know it isn't easy."

He sighed, and brought her hand to his lips.

"It's easy when I'm with you," he said, and felt her shiver against him. Pulling her closer, he kissed her, eyes falling closed as his lips parted to hers, with such delicate tenderness it made him ache. Everything was easier with Mary, when it was just them (and their darling, innocent girls who were happy without question), alone and without intrusion… it was all so much easier to bear. Her warmth, her kiss, her gentle, loving hands, all helped him forget… helped him feel happy.

His hand slipped into her hair, like silk between his fingers. It was rare now that they kissed like this, it seemed always too tempting and too taunting a reminder of what they could not, now, do… but it was Christmas, and he loved her, and she tasted so wonderfully sweet… He hummed at the delicate tease of her tongue, felt her fingers skim down to his belly, with a sharp gasp as a shiver shot down his spine and down to his toes.

He was shocked into stillness, and their eyes flew open, breathless in the darkness.

"I love you," he whispered fiercely, before she could ask what it was. "My God, Mary… I love you so much."

He couldn't bear to tell her, to let her hope, even the slightest bit. Not when it was most likely nothing… just the memory of a feeling, that was all, and it had been so brief he wasn't sure (as with the other few times) if he'd imagined it after all. He filed it to the back of his mind. He'd prayed, and wished over the Christmas pudding (at Edith's insistence they all did), that one day a miracle would come… It must just be wishful thinking.

His wife's hand stroked affectionately through his hair, pushing it back from where it flopped over his forehead.

"I know you do," she said, punctuated by one more soft kiss. "I love you, too… so terribly much. I hope you've had a happy day, however hard it's been."

"I've tried to," he laughed gently, "for everyone's sake - and I have, really. It started off quite perfectly… and it means the world to know that I'll never miss Christmas with you again, not one. And you know, I can enjoy the gramophone's music from my chair… Anyway I think Bel, particularly, will dance quite enough for the both of us!"

"I think you might be right!"

"And it was lovely to steal you away for a walk, briefly, in spite of the cold. Dinner was perfectly divine, and, well… I must say I'm enjoying our end to the day, too…" He kissed her nose, and grinned. "Merry Christmas, my darling girl."

His arms wrapped around her, holding her close as she took his face in her hands and kissed him soundly, murmuring against his lips,

"And here's to many more…"

 **Fin**

* * *

 _A/N: There we go! I know we're a few days past now, but I hope you had a fantastic Christmas, and as it'll be new year soon I wish you so much health and happiness for 2018. I hope you've enjoyed this little revisit to ATiL as much as I enjoyed writing it - as always I'd love so much to know what you thought! Thank you for reading!_


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